


THE BEACH, THE BUS AND THE BIRD

by 5CurrensCumAxicia5



Category: MASH (TV), Zombies Run!
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-08
Updated: 2019-03-08
Packaged: 2019-11-13 20:12:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,810
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18038168
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/5CurrensCumAxicia5/pseuds/5CurrensCumAxicia5
Summary: There are things that can't be unseen no matter how hard a runner tries.(Attempting the non-gender age or anything else specific point of view.)





	THE BEACH, THE BUS AND THE BIRD

**Author's Note:**

> *** Fair warning. This one may be difficult for more sensitive readers and involves serious themes of mental illness and character death. End notes contain spoilers for this non-cannon story. ***
> 
> Comments of all kinds welcome.

The room was small and dimly lit, furnished only with a stout wooden table and a pair of folding chairs. One chair was occupied by a figure wearing a blue untied robe over an untucked white cotton shirt. The elastic waistband on soft cotton pajama pants is ill fitting and slightly too big, the drawstring that would have corrected for this problem having been removed.

“Would you mind using my number, 39? That’s how I think of myself since I became a runner.”

“If that’s what you’d like, who am I to say otherwise?” The second voice belonged to a tall gaunt man who stood leaning back against a wall opposite the seated runner. His dark, wooly hair was silhouetted by bright daylight filtering through a window. The hair had begun its retreat from his brow. “So, how are you feeling?”

The runner’s reply was a whip crack. “Great. How are you? You look a little thin.”

The standing man paused and looked at the runner before asking, “How’ve you been sleeping?”

“On my back. The bed’s terrible. You can feel the springs right through the mattress.”

The thin man pressed on. “Yesterday, you were going to tell me about that day at the beach.”

“It was great. Very hot. A lot of people say too much sun is no good for you. And you know carcinomas can result from that. Now this of course would concern me being a runner.”

The standing man persisted. “I’d like to get back to the beach.”

The runner’s smile was without mirth. “Hey. Go ahead. Take the rest of the day off.”

“What happened that day?”

The runner shrugged revealing the blue six pointed star surrounding the rod of Asclepius that had been emblazoned on the back of the left hand but ignored the question. “You know, I ought to be able to go home. There’s nothing wrong with me.”

“What was it like at the beach?”

The runner looked away, eyes burning twin holes into a wall before turning back. “I’ll tell you if you’ll let me get a word in. It was great.”

 

***

 

The midday light was glaring bright. Along the beach lay barbed wire, driftwood and the burnt out shell of a moderately sized boat, discarded remnants left over from the time just after “Z-Day.”  A pale, red haired man sat beside an open cook fire. Beside him stood a tall dark skinned man with darker short cropped hair and a fair skinned woman with a grey buzz cut. The standing pair howled in laughter together as the red haired cook proudly bit into a bit of charred meat and was rewarded with a scorched tongue. A pair of sandy haired men played catch while a group of children twirled a long piece of seaweed as a jump rope. Others were wading, swimming or combing the beach for shells.

 

***

 

With a deep sigh, the runner continued. “It was the Fifth of May. There was a lot of zombie activity going on but all the cameras showed that it was kilometers away. Janine decided to give some of us a day off. We went to a little cove a short jaunt down the road and had a great time.”

 

***

 

Paula and Maxine waded in the water, each at one end of a fishing net. Maxine was giving directions on how to fish. On the beach a pair of 10 year old twin girls buried Sam Yao in the sand. He was wearing a straw hat. Nearby, a group of runners faced off in a game of volleyball. Even numbers on one side, odd numbers on the other. Runner 5 was there wearing a set of novelty glasses with a big nose and mustache. The game ended on a final point when the ball streaked straight at Runner 5 knocking the glasses askew and squishing the plastic nose. With a laugh the players ran into the sea splashing and chasing each other. Rajit walked along the sand occasionally pausing to pick up and examine a shell before returning it to the beach.

In the shallow water, several people helped Paula and Maxine pull the netting out. It was clear that they had caught something big. Everyone was excited when they finally succeeded in lifting the net out of the water, their catch, a floundering Runner 39.

 

***

 

Runner 39 smiled placidly while looking through the window. The tall man unhurriedly strode across the room to take the seat across from the runner. After a moment’s pause he asked, “Is that it?”

The runner turned back to face his inquisitor. “We had a great time and we went home.”

The man with the questions shifted in his chair. “And what was that like?” The tone of his voice held an incredulous note.

The runner grew excited. “Going home? Hilarious, amusing, genial, joyful, raucous, funny…”

Unmoved the man scratched his nose and asked, “What happened?”

 

***

 

The members of Abel Township were happy and carefree on their way home from the beach. The bus listed slightly as Kytan gingerly piloted it from the dirt road back on to a paved one. Runner 39 laughed raucously and seemed to be the happiest of the bunch. All around people laughed and sang and passed a bottle. Runner 39 rose from a seat and gestured to a semiconscious man reclining in a nearby seat and shouted, “Can we please have that bottle back here? This guy can’t wait.”

 

***

 

The man leaned toward the runner slightly and asked “So you had a great time on the bus?”

Runner 39 slapped the table with an open hand and stood before replying. “And so we had a great time on the bus and so we enjoyed ourselves and so and so and so and so. I’m not, however, having a great time here. In the first place, I don’t like the color of these walls, if you can call that a color. I don’t know what’s on those walls but I think it hit the fan first.”

A knock at the door interrupted the runner’s rant and the lean man called out. A woman entered wearing the uniform of a nurse. “I’m sorry to interrupt Dr Freedman. There’s someone on the com for you Runner 39.”

The runner and the nurse both turned to the man with the questions who waved with one hand. “It’s as good a time as any for a break.”

Runner 39 stood to follow the nurse. “Yea, let’s knock off till Christmas.” The runner was clearly not amused. As the three of them leave the room the runner squawked like some oversized tropical bird, startling the nurse who squeaked in momentary fright in spite of herself. She regained her composure almost immediately but put a little more distance between herself and the runner, always keeping 39 in her peripheral vision as they walked down the corridor.

The tall slender man and the runner took the lead traveling briskly toward the nurses’ station. Runner 39 remarked, “The rooms may not be much here, but they got a great bellhop.” The nurse smiled nervously, clearly not amused. She handed the runner an ear piece, the same one that 39 was using prior to being delivered to this place. A moment later, the hardware was adjusted and fitted to the runner. “Yel-low. Snake pit, we never close.”

 

***

 

Five pairs of shoes crowded into a tiny shack lit mostly by the glow of computer monitors, its floor slightly tacky from the leavings of some unidentifiable sugary snack food. Meters glowed and the operator donned a pair of headphones partially held together by tape and good will.  “Runner 39, it’s Sam. How are you?”

“How the hell do you think I’m doing? I’ve been locked up for the last week in a wackateria”

Sam continued, “Well, listen, Sidney’s the doctor.” He gamely tried to hide the concern in his voice.

Runner 39 turned to speak to the gaunt man while curling fingers around the microphone. “You want to laugh? He say’s you’re the doctor.” Turning away, 39 opened the closed hand and again spoke to Abel. “I’m the runner. I sew the world back together. Why is he keeping a brilliant runner locked up? I mean, what’s behind that?”

Sam looked lost when he turned to his cohorts. “Uh… listen, Jamie wants to say hello.”

Jamie took the headphones from Sam. “Hello, 39? Need anything? Can we send something down to you?”

Miles away, Runner 39 smiled without mirth. “How ‘bout a bandage for my finger? I got a blister from going… be, be, be, be, be.” The runner ran a finger up and down over dry lips to make the sound.

Jamie looked at the microphone awkwardly. “Yes, well, I’ll see what I can do. Perhaps Janine… uh… could… uh… hmm.” He smashed a fist down onto Sam’s desk before pushing his way out of the crowded room. Sunlight streaming through the open door momentarily stunned the four that remained inside.

Janine took the headset. “Runner 39, know that you are missed here.”

More earnestly, the runner replied. “I miss me there, too. It’s lonely here, especially at night. I do hear the guy in the next room. He cries all night.”

Janine took a deep breath. “Yes, 39. Well… you’ll be happy to learn that despite your absence we have been making great progress here at Abel.”

“Yeah?” was the only reply.

Undaunted, Janine continued. “We’ve been sending out runners almost hourly when possible. Our supply and material stores have never been fuller. Unfortunately the infirmary has also never been more crowded. There has been some strain on our personnel and our operation.”

The runner’s answer was sharp as a thorn. “Just remember, every day you let them keep one of your runners here, you might be killing people there.”

Janine was at a loss. “Maxine won’t rest till I give her the com. You must persevere.”

 Dr. Meyers connected a spare set of headphones before Janine could place hers on the desk. “Can you hear me? Are you there?”

Like a child in a classroom the runner replied, “Here!”

Sensing trouble, the doctor looked to Sam who whispered, “You’ll be great.” He forced his best smile.

Eyes to the ground, Maxine breathed deeply and turned to face the microphone. Never looking up she spoke. “How so you feel?”

“Like a hostage. How about you?”

Maxine continued in spite of herself. “Oh, same old stuff. This and that. Ups and Downs. What can I say?

“Well, that pretty much covers it. Nice talking to you.”

“Oh, it was great talking to you. You take care of yourself, now. OK?” Maxine dripped with forced enthusiasm.

“Sure.”

“Simon wants to say hello.” Relieved, Dr. Meyers handed the headset over who donned it with a smile and great confidence.

“Runner 39, how are you?

“Hi, Simon.”

“You sound perfectly normal to me. How is it there? You crazy about the place?” Janine and Sam both snapped their heads around to look at Simon. The former staring daggers, the latter looking shocked and maybe a little frightened. “Sorry, poor choice of words.” Simon chuckled and gave a wave to his cohorts in the shack. Holding his hand over the microphone to mute his voice Simon reassured them. “He loves it. He loves it.” Back to the radio he continued. “Can you believe these rotten zombies? They just want to keep shambling. This could go on forever.”

Maxine nearly tore Simon’s ear off when she took back the headset. Simon sulked against a wall.

“Runner 39, It’s me again. Don’t’ listen to him. Things are getting better. We’re all making plans for when the zombies are all gone. Isn’t that right?” All the others in the shack nodded. “I can’t wait to get back home and work in a real hospital. You know, with regular shifts and sanitary conditions and plain ordinary diseases. I’m going to make a ring out of the first kidney stone I remove.” She chuckles. The runner says nothing. “Well, just take care of yourself. We all miss you.”

“Then get me out.” Runner 39 pulled the headset off and roughly dropped it onto a desk at the nurse’s station.

Maxine doffed the headset, forced a smile and turned back to the group. “Didn’t sound too bad.”

“Thirty Nine was more relaxed than I was” replied Sam.

Simon seemed unphased. “You have to know how to handle people like that. I’ve had a lot of experience with mental illness. One of the guys I hung out with back home, Eddie Fahey. Crazy as a fruitcake. He ran into a light post. Ended up with a steel plate in his skull. You know those little black-and-white Scotty dogs with the magnets in them? He used to wear one on his forehead.” The room grew silent as they skulked away leaving just Sam and Simon in the com shack. For his part, Sam busied himself with the radio eventually introducing one of the more optimistic Radio Abel broadcast that had been previously recorded.

 

***

 

Runner 39 woke, still exhausted, a common occurrence of late. Hours passed and the Runner found the will to dress and shuffle over to a common room where the residents often listened to a broadcast. The radio receiver had been cobbled together from spare parts and held together with sticky tape. At the conclusion, the runner turned from his companion and began to rise from a folding chair. “Thank you Dr. Freedman. I won’t require your services anymore.”

“Where you headed 39?”

Pointing to the radio Runner 39’s voice grew louder. “It’s over. Everyone’s on stage for the finale. If you don’t mind I’d like to exchange my straitjacket for something a little more normal. If you’ll call me a taxi, I’ll be on my way.”

The doctor sat at a table opposite the runner. “It’s so hard to get a cab in this part of the apocalypse. Besides, I don’t think you’re quite ready to leave.”

“Sidney, listen to me. I’m a runner. There’s nothing wrong with me.”

“That’s what you said the night they brought you here. You had just driven an ATV through the wall of the tequila shack and ordered a double.”

“That was strange. I drink martinis” smirked 39.

Dr. Freedman continued. “And later that day you brought in an injured refugee but then wanted the doctor to operate without anesthetic. You accused her of trying to smother him with the mask.”

Runner 39 blinked twice.

“Before we call you a cab, I think we have a little more talking to do.”

The runner slowly, grudgingly settled back into the chair.

“Now what happened on the bus?” asked Dr. Friedman.

“You’re wasting your time.”

Undaunted, “Well, you never know.”

Runner 39 shrugged and began to talk. “What can I tell you? We were laughing and having a great time. We had a bottle.”

 

***

 

On a dusty road, a yellow school bus laden with raucous and tipsy Abel residents lumbered down the road.  Runner 39 rose from a seat near the back and called to the other end of the bus. “Can we please have that bottle here? This guy can’t wait. Runner 39 stood above a man wearing dirty coveralls. Jamie passed a bottle of amber liquid to 39. The man in the dirty coveralls took the bottle and drank from it thirstily.

 

***

 

Dr. Freedman’s eyes were as gentle as Runner 39’s were hard when he asked “Where did that man come from?”

Runner 39 sighed. “He needed the bottle.”

Sidney paused long enough to know that there wouldn’t be any more without a nudge. “Keep going.”

The runner turned away. “He needed the bottle so we gave it to him.”

 

***

 

On a dusty road the bus listed to one side. Revelers within smiled and laughed seemingly heedless of the hordes of undead that could be attracted by the noise. Runner 39 rose from a seat near the back of the bus. “Can we please have that bottle back here? This guy can’t wait.” From the front of the bus a glass bottle with a rubber stopper passed from one person to the next till it reached 39. The handwritten label read 0.9% Sodium Chloride. The runner exchanged a similar empty bottle for the newly obtained full one now attached to a plastic tube running from the arm of a badly wounded and nearly unconscious man.

 

***

 

It was dark and quiet in the hospital as twilight blossomed. 

“So he was wounded?”

Runner 39 turned back to the doctor. “I guess he was.”

“I wonder why you repressed that.”

The runner shrugged and stared through the window. “Don’t you have someone else to talk to? You know, the guy in the blue robe out there thinks he’s General MacArthur. If you do a good job on him, he could probably get you promoted. You have to catch him in the morning. In the afternoon he wades ashore in the bathtub.”

Sidney regarded 39 passively.

“I’m trying to arrange a meeting between him and the guy in the yellow pajamas who thinks he’s Truman.”

The doctor never looked away from the runner.

“You know, people would like you a lot better if you didn’t stare at them.” Runner 39 waited until sure that Dr. Freedman wasn’t going to look away. “The bus… We had to stop the bus and pick up some refugees. About a half mile later, we took on some wounded.”

 

***

 

Night was descended as the bus slowed. It limped to a stop and two men and a women boarded. Both of the men were injured and needed to be helped down the aisle. From the front of the bus someone called out that they had to get the bus off the road because a small army of zombies was headed this way. Kytan pulled the bus to the left behind a small copse of bushes. The sudden detour made everyone on the bus frightened but worse, it made them chatty. One of the refugees shushed everyone in a hoarse whisper, telling everyone not to make a sound until they’ve passed. Some of the more seasoned runners including 5 and 39 hushed the passengers too trying to get everyone to be quiet. For the most part they succeeded.

 

***

 

Sidney sat back in his chair. “And then?”

Runner 39 leaned into the table. “Well, we sat and waited and the evening passed. And then this happened and that happened and this and that and so and so and so and so.”

Dr. Freedman cocked one eyebrow. “Ah-hah.” He knew that there would be a lot more work ahead for both of them.

The following day Dr. Freedman and Runner 39 met in a hospital lounge. They sat at a table each holding a fan of 7 cards. They took turns drawing and dropping cards onto a pile that lay between them while two other men played checkers at a nearby table. Runner 39 looked up from the game. “Ah, MacArthur and Truman are talking again. Yesterday he fired him and sent him and sent him home.”

Mac Arthur moved one of the pieces on the board. Truman’s eyes narrowed as he glared at MacArthur over the checkerboard. “You can’t do that.”

“Yes, I can.”

Truman snarled. “It’s against the rules”

MacArthur now on his feet leaning forward over the table replied. “I don’t like rules and I don’t cheat!”

Runner 39 turned to Sidney. “MacArthur’s always trying to attack China with his King.”

Truman now also rose and stabbed at MacArthur’s chest with one finger. “You do cheat!”

“I don’t and don’t say I do!” MacArthur slapped the board onto the floor scattering the pieces while moving around the table. The two were close enough to feel hot breath on each other’s faces.

Runner 39 also stood sending a metal folding chair to the floor. Backing into a corner the runner covered both ears. Postured like a taut spring pulled to nearly to the point of failure, 39 shrieked. “Will you shut up? Just be quiet, will you? Will somebody shut those guys up?” An attendant in a formerly white lab coat arrives and tries to calm both Truman and MacArthur who reluctantly begin to gather the wayward tokens and board from the ground.

Dr. Freedman turned back to 39 who regained composure more slowly.

The runner slowly righted the overturned chair. “They don’t bother me until they start squawking like chickens, not that I have anything against chickens personally. They’re a much maligned bird in my book. Take the common fallacy that chickens are afraid. Who else has the nerve to run around after you cut their heads off? Have you ever seen a chicken break out in a cold sweat? Have you ever known a chicken to have a weak handshake? I’ll grant you they’re afraid of flying. In a recent survey, two out of three chickens prefer to take the bus. But what about their contributions to society? Just think of the great chickens of history.” The Runner 39 looked at the doctor. “Hard to think of any isn’t it?”

Sidney looked back. “Chickens take the bus?”

“As a matter-of-fact, there was a chicken on the bus. It was driving me crazy. Every time it made a noise, I was sure that the zombies would hear it and find us. Everybody’s life was in danger because of that damn chicken.” Runner sat back and stared at the doctor. There was something about that statement that was unsettling to both of them.

 

***

 

Two men walked shoulder to shoulder down the hall. One wore a white lab coat that extended to his thigh. The other wore a slightly threadbare and slightly stained orange hooded sweatshirt that had seen better days. Sam turned to the man in the coat. “Is 39 any calmer? The last time it was just too much, talking a mile a minute. Ha, a mile a minute.”

Dr. Freedman looked back at Sam for a few heartbeat’s time. Sidney broke the silence barely before it became uncomfortable. “We’ve made progress but we’re not done yet.” As an afterthought he added “A minute mile would be a great time for a runner.” Sam smiled.

“Do you think I should tell 39 that I’ll be running missions soon to pick up the slack during this… this break? Would that make things worse?”

“That’s a good question. Why don’t you just play it by ear.”

Sidney knocked on the door to Runner39’s room and the pair entered. Sidney spoke first. “I brought you a present.”

Runner 39 stood and tied the robe’s belt tighter before turning to Sam. “Look at you. Just visiting, or did you get a leak in your bean bag?”

“I missed you.”

The runner blinked twice, “Yea, me too.”

Sidney smiled, “I have to go read a few inkblots. I’ll see you guys later.” He closed the door behind him.

Sam waited for Sidney to leave before reaching into his pocket to produce a pair of white slender package with multicolored lettering. He held one out to Runner 39, with only the slightest of nervous tremors in his hand. “I’d have brought the whole box but it would have been tough to sneak past the guards and even harder to sneak it past Janine.” They each pulled up chairs and went to work unwrapping a pair of slightly melted twisted chocolate and caramel treats. “Sorry. There used to be three.”

Runner 39 turned to Sam, “How’s work?”

“Uh… We’re keeping busy.”

The runner smirked. “Well it’s a nice location. You get a lot of business.”

“I’d gladly give it up to have this all be over.”

Suddenly very serious, 39 looked up from the candy. “What makes you think that this will ever be over?”

Sam squirmed and looked away. “Well, you know, eventually. Someday it’ll all be over. Seems like the whole world has gone by while we’ve been here. You know Karina’s birthday is coming up. She’s been asking the runners to pick up some shoes for her. The ones she’s wearing are getting a bit too small.“

“You know, I wear the same running shoes I got when I came here.”

Sam paused at the nonsequitur. “Well, anyway, I’m sure you miss her even if all you think of is the whining.”

The runner stood and began to pace. “That’s the thing, you see. I mean, whining, fingers, shoes. There’s a common thread running through all of this. I mean, you could have said a ball of twine, toothbrushes, chewing gum under the seat in the theater. I found gum under my seat at a theater once. Charles Boyer was trying to drive Ingrid Bergman crazy in ‘Gaslight.’ ‘The lights went dim.’ ‘No, they didn’t. You’re crazy.’ Now she knows she’s not going crazy, the audience knows she’s not going crazy, but this French guy is trying to put her away. Now I want to know why. I mean, OK, she had a Swedish accent, but we’re still talking about a citizen here.”

Sam could only stare back.

Runner 39 continued on. “I’d like to know where they get the gall to lock up a runner. And I’m talking about the finest runner you’ll ever see.”

Sam stood and opened the door to look down the hall. “Dr. Freedman?”

“I’ll tell you. They’re not keeping me here. There are people I can call, you know. Very highly placed people.”

Dr. Freedman slid into the room. “What’s up?”

Runner 39 turned wide eyed toward the doctor. “Oh, hi. We were just talking about you.”

Sam picked at his shirtsleeve. “I’m sorry I got you a little agitated.”

The runner stood. “I’m not even miffed yet. You want to see agitated? I can be aggravated, infuriated, frustrated, vexated and irritated.”

Dr. Freedman gripped Sam’s shoulder. “Maybe 39 and I ought to talk alone for a while.” Sam nodded but stood in the doorway reluctant to leave.

Pacing and gesturing, 39 turned back to Sam. “Go, what are you waiting for?”

Sam took a deep breath. “I don’t know. I just thought there might be something we wanted to say before I left.”

“So tell me the next time you see me. I’m not going to be here forever. I can guarantee you that.”

Sam smiled weakly. “Yea, well, I’ll see you.” Eyes down Sam pulled his hood up over his head as he left.

Sidney found a wooden chair. “You want to tell me what you and Sam were talking about?”

“The same thing he always talks about. Fingers, smiles, teeth, booties.”

The doctor gently pressed on. “Was there anything about that you found upsetting?”

Runner 39 leaned in and grew confidential. “No, I’ll tell you what I find upsetting is being in here. Now I want you to get me out of here. I don’t care how you do it. You can put me on a plane, on a train, on a bus, on a boat. I’ll go out on a mouse-drawn chariot, I don’t care what.”

Dr. Freedman leaned back in the chair. “A bus, huh?”

Frustrated, Runner 39 looked back. “Again with the bus? Why don’t you subscribe to Arizona Highways and leave me alone.”

Dr. Sidney Freedman smiled without a hint of mirth. “It’s more fun with you.”

 

***

 

The bus sat dormant on the side of the road. Frightened passengers turned their heads to the seats near the back. A chicken clucked, then clucked again. The concern and fear was plain on 39’s face. The runner moved between the seats, toward the back of the bus where a woman franticly stroked a bird. The runner hoarsely, angrily whispered to the women “Keep that chicken quiet!”

 

***

 

Sidney leaned forward and folded his hands. “Then what happened?”

Runner 39 sat back gesturing emphatically. “Then I went back toward the front of the bus.”

“What happened next?” Sidney hadn’t moved.

 

***

 

It grew dark around the bus and the chicken clucked, oblivious to the danger around it. Runner 39 had moved to the front of the bus in frustration. Abruptly, it’s clucking was replaced by an unnatural silence. The wide eyed runner moved to the back of the bus.

 

***

 

Runner 39’s frantic eyes met Sidney’s. “There’s something wrong with it. It stopped making noise. It just stopped.”

 

***

 

Runner 39 pushed through the aisle, wild eyes fixed on the woman.

 

***

 

“She killed it. She killed it.” Runner 39 cried.

Sensing something, the doctor prodded. “She killed the chicken?”

 

***

 

In the gloom Runner 39 looked at the woman who was in utter despair. Her head was raised up to the runner as she cried soundlessly.

 

***

 

Runner 39 clutched at Sidney’s sleeves sobbing. “Oh, no. Oh, no no no.”

 

***

 

Runner 39 looked down at the woman. In her arms she cradled not a chicken but an infant with blue lips not moving or crying.

 

***

 

Dr. Sidney Freedman quietly watched as the runner knelt sobbing and still clutching at the cloth of the doctor’s pants. Runner 39 spoke through labored sobs. “I didn’t mean for her to kill it. I just want it to be quiet. It was a baby. She smothered her own baby. A baby! Slowly the 39’s sobs subsided. The runner sat on the ground and looked up at Sidney. “You son of a bitch. Why did you make me remember that?

The doctor’s soft eyes never left the runner. “You had to get it out in the open. Now we’re halfway home.”

Runner 39 looked back, angry and untrusting.

 

***

 

Days later, still wearing a robe and slippers, Runner 39 sat at a picnic table on a sun-drenched lawn, scratching a pen along a white page.

> _‘Dear Sam,_
> 
> _Sorry I haven’t’ written for a while, but I’ve been on R and R at this wonderful resort. We’re planning to have a bridge tournament here as soon as we can find somebody with a full deck.’_

The runner ripped the page from the pad, crumpled it and threw it into a waste basket and immediately started another.

> _‘Dear Sam,_
> 
> _When I was a kid my dad always told me that if my head wasn’t attached to my shoulders, I’d  lose it. Well…’_

Again a page was torn, crumpled and tossed away.

> _‘Dear Sam,_
> 
> _For the first time, I understand what a nervous disorder is because it seems I’ve got one. I guess I won’t be seeing you soon since I doubt if they’ll let a runner operate who’s cheese has slipped off his cracker.’_

Runner 39 glanced up to see Dr. Sidney Freedman approaching from the far side of the lawn. He stops when he reaches the runner’s side.

With a crooked smile 39 asked, “Time to hit the couch?”

Sidney’s sincere eyes met his patient’s. “Actually, it may be time for you to hit the road. How would you feel about moving on?”

Runner 39 leapt from the chair to stand, instinctively picking up the papers, a bottle of sunscreen and a pair of sunglasses. “If you’ll just have the bellhop bring me my pants, I’ll be on my way. Sidney, it’s been a pleasure. One of these days I’m going to have a memorial lobster in your honor. Cracked of course.” The runner approached, arms held wide. “How about a little hug for the road?”

With great difficulty, Dr. Freedman continued. “I hate to break this to you, but Abel needs you back in the field.”

Dumfounded, the Runner’s arms dropped.

The doctor was not surprised at the reaction. “Does this mean I’m not getting the hug?”

The Runner couldn’t stop the rant, face spitting distance from Sidney’s. “You’re sending a crazy person back to the place where they got crazy in the first place? Are you out of your mind?”

Sidney explained, “Look, you know when soldiers react to the stress of combat, we get them back to their foxhole as soon as we can. That’s why we have to get you right back to running.”

“Listen, a couple of weeks ago, I fell all to pieces out there. I thought we had to have more sessions.”

The doctor shrugged. “We’ve had them.”

The runner stood wide eyed. “So now you’re just going to dump me back in Abel?”

Sidney grasped his patient gently on the shoulder. “I’ll drop in on your from time to time to see how you’re doing. Anyway, I’m afraid of lobsters. I’ll have the bellhop bring you your pants.” Having broken the news, Dr. Freedman gently turned and left. Runner 39 returned to the chair fingers running through hair. Pulling the letter from a pocket, 39 stared down at it for a dozen heartbeats before wadding it up like the others.

 

***

 

“Do you think they’ll want me back?” Sidney and Runner 39 walked down a hall. The runner carried a well-worn backpack. “I’m not sure I feel right about getting back to running, Sidney.”

“Why not?”

“I don’t know. The thought ‘What if something goes wrong?,’ never occurred to me. Now I’m thinking that a lot.”

The doctor smiled, “Actually, that’s a pretty good sign that you’re ready to go back.” The pair arrived at a heavy steel door at the end of a hallway. Sidney rooted in his pocket and produced a key that he used to unlock the door. Runner 39 stepped through the portal.

Truman and MacArthur looked up from their game of checkers. Runner 39 turned back with a half-smile waving briefly. “So long guys.” They waved back. “Good. They made up.” The runner turned and walked from the building and boarded a truck bound for Abel Township. Dr. Freedman closed and locked the door.

 

***

 

The truck bucked as it made its way down the neglected roadway. They had to go slow to avoid the many cracks and holes. One of the dead dragged itself from the underbrush to lunge at the truck as it rumbled by. Runner 39 watched it for a moment as it swiped at the lumbering vehicle. A moment later its head detonated in a red mist as one of the snipers on the watchtower found her mark. A pair of runners trotted by as the truck resumed its journey. The driver called back, “we’re less than a mile from Abel.” The runner could not answer. Moments later the driver pointed. “Were those always here?” A series of white signs had been driven into the ground along the left side of the road. As they passed 39 read each aloud in turn.

’39 was gone’

‘Now you’re here’

‘Dance ‘till dawn’

‘And give a cheer’

‘Burma Shave’

The runner smiled, maybe for the first time since the beach. Only Sam would have used such an obscure reference from an early 1980’s dark comedy to welcome a runner home. Somehow that made things seem less bleak.

**Author's Note:**

> This story is adapted from and in tribute to the screenplay “Goodbye, Farewell and Amen” which served as the final episode for the American television series M*A*S*H and aired on February 28, 1983. All credit goes to the writers Alan Alda, Burt Metcalfe, John Rappaport, Dan Wilcox, Thad Mumford, Elias Davis, David Pollock and Karen Hall. 
> 
> Source: Wikipedia.  
> https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Goodbye,_Farewell_and_Amen


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